


Treasure

by cuppatea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Day At The Beach, Kidlock, M/M, Summer, Summer AU, really bad deductions i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:31:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppatea/pseuds/cuppatea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock meet for the first time as children at the beach. It goes how you would expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasure

John would never be sure what it was about the small boy that initially caught his attention that day at the beach. Maybe it was the mop of dark, messy curls being blown into a proper state by the relentless, salty wind. Perhaps the pale skin contrasting so markedly with the shades of tan and tanner of the other occupants of the beach. Most likely it was the eyes. That strange color John’s never seen before and can’t quite place a name to, like waves of rolling seawater but at the same time a piercing silver like sunlight shining through dark storm clouds. Even from a distance away, it was really something singular to be the subject of that sharp gaze. John was always a friendly child, willing to befriend the majority of his peers, so it wasn’t a surprise that before long he was standing before the other boy.

“Hello, I’m John Watson.”

His introduction was met with a stunned silence, two bright, wide eyes staring up at him. The child sat with his arms wrapped around his drawn up knees under the shade of a large beach umbrella. Something about the boy reminded John of the paintings of plump cherubs he saw the last time he visited an art museum. By Rapheo or someone; he couldn’t quite remember. John sat himself down onto the sand next to the boy. “What’s your name?” The boy continued to stare at him.

Then he gave a faint cough and cleared his throat. With a puffed up chest he replied, “Sherlock. I’m Sherlock Holmes.” John smiled, and he was glad to see that Sherlock’s lip twitched up in a small grin mirroring his. Sherlock paused as if pondering what he wanted to sat next.

“You should tell your parents to buy you new rugby shoes. If you keep wearing a size too small it could damage your feet.”

John gaped, and looked down at his feet. They were bare of course, his toes wiggling in the warm sand. So how…?

“Sherlock…are you magic?” John whispered incredulously. He was probably a mind reader or something or maybe a wizard like the one from those fairy tale books. Sherlock only giggled.

“No, magic is rubbish. It’s much more practical to rely on your senses and observations,” Sherlock replied in a matter of fact tone. “I know you play rugby because you have a very obvious tan line around your calf where the socks go up to and your arms to from the shirts you wear while playing. You’ve got lots of bruises and scrapes on your legs and arms as well, all in various stages of healing, rough play. Contact sport, what a nuisance. And I know your shoes are too small because your feet are sore—you limped a little bit on your way walking over here—and you’ve got slight swelling and reddish areas of irritation where the shoes are too tight and chafe your feet while you run.”

John stared at the boy. Sherlock’s expression was jumping between smug and anxious. It looked rather silly because one second there would be a self satisfied grin and the next it would be replaced by furrowed eyebrows and a pouting cupid’s bow.

John laughed brightly and turned to the side to fully face the boy. “Wow! Sherlock, you’re amazing!” he exclaimed. “That was extraordinary!”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up, and he smiled in relief. “That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

Sherlock scrunched his face up and imitated in a nasally voice, “You’re a freak, Sherlock. What a creep, he probably, like, spied on us or something.” Sherlock waved his hand. “All these ridiculous insults just because some people can’t open their own two eyes and look at what’s important. There’s also some bad words thrown in there sometimes, but Mummy gets upset with me when I repeat them.”

John looked at Sherlock thoughtfully, “You’re not a freak, Sherlock. You’re more a genius than anything. But I wanna know, is there anything else you can see about me?”

He waited patiently as Sherlock’s eyes darted all over his body, taking in the golden blonde hair which glistened in the sunlight, the deep blue eyes the same color as the ocean, tan skin with a faint smattering of freckles on his shoulders, and the brand new pair of swimming trunks his parents had bought just for this trip, orange with white tropical flower prints. Sherlock took in a deep breath before he rattled off, “You have a little sister between 4 and 6 years old. She’s blonde just like you and good at arts and crafts judging by the homemade bracelet you’re wearing on your wrist which she gave you. Your mother is a real estate agent, and your father is unemployed at the moment, possibly due to his lack of punctuality more likely because of his alcoholic tendencies. You like playing sports and being outside, but you want to be a doctor in the future which will require lots of studies but is very much possibly since I can see you’re clever. Did I miss anything?”

John stared in awe then exclaimed excitedly, “No that’s all true! You really are incredible!”

Sherlock grinned smugly. “Now, I have one more questions for you, John. A very serious question which you must answer truthfully.”

John nodded eagerly. Two green eyes focused intensely on him.

“Do you like pirates?”

***

They spent the remainder of the day exploring the beach. John found that Sherlock loved to look and touch everything they came across. Small fish, crabs, squawking seagulls, grass and weeds, even piles of rocks.

They built a fort in the sand and pretended to be pirates who had just discovered a new land. A collection of shiny rocks and colorful seashells of all shapes and sizes represented their treasure, and they looted the beach in search for more riches. Sherlock taught John about the types of animals at the beach and the different kinds of seaweed that washed up onto the shore. John took handfuls of fluffy sea foam and gave himself a Santa Claus beard and called himself ‘Whitebeard, the not-so-well-known second cousin of Blackbeard’ which made Sherlock giggle for 10 minutes straight. They made Sherlock’s brother Mycroft ‘walk the plank’ when he came over to their fort and told Sherlock it was time to go home.

Today was the last day at the beach for the Holmes family, but John’s family would stay for another week. It was only chance of fate that the two boys were able to befriend each other that day.

Before leaving, Sherlock handed John one of the seashells from their treasure collection. It was pale pink with lines of lavender across its surface. “Promise you will keep this safe and with you forever and ever,” Sherlock said in total seriousness. He held up his own matching seashell, folded it into a piece of tissue and put it gently into his pocket. “A pirate never loses his treasure,” he told John.

That was the last time John saw Sherlock.

***

Many, many years later Sherlock would remember that day at Bart’s in vivid detail. He wouldn’t know for sure what is was about the short blonde man from that day that initially caught his attention. Perhaps the cane, supporting the poor fellow’s psychosomatic limp. Maybe it was the stance of the man, pronouncing that he was a veteran soldier with PTSD. Most likely, it was the pale colored seashell that hung loosely on a cord around the man’s neck glistening in the light of the laboratory, a precious treasure lying next to his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for NEHS Summer AU writing contest
> 
> I wrote this in a bit of a rush, and it's entirely unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. I must work harder on capturing these two more in character!
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


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